


It Started With A Lie

by chochowilliams



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Angst, Drama, F/M, Fertility Potion, Healer Harry Potter, Implied/Referenced Abortion, Infidelity, Intern Scorpius Malfoy, M/M, Male Slash, Not Epilogue Compliant, One Shot, POV Ginny Weasley, POV Scorpius Malfoy, m-preg, not brit-picked
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 09:35:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13268682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chochowilliams/pseuds/chochowilliams
Summary: Healer Harry Potter has always wanted a family and his wife of fifteen years, Ginny Weasley, has continuously stated that she "isn't ready". This has made their once fairy-tale romance a contemptuous cesspool, into which sneaks Scorpius Malfoy, Healer intern and Malfoy heir, determined to give the man everything his wife refuses.





	It Started With A Lie

**Author's Note:**

> Controversy warning!! This story contains a character who had an abortion. Never is the procedure written out. It is necessary for the plot of the story. I suggest you turn back now if this is not something you feel comfortable reading. Also, I would appreciate it if everyone kept their personal opinions about abortions to themselves. Thank you.

**It Started With a Lie**

**One-Shot**

**Written by:** chochowilliams

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own _Harry Potter_ or the characters, places or names. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

 **Summary:** What a Malfoy wants, a Malfoy gets, and what intern Scorpius Malfoy wants is Harry Potter.

 **Warning:** AU, Non-Epilogue Compliant, Not Brit-Picked, Drama, Angst, Infidelity, Slash, Fertility Potion, Implied/Mentioned M-Preg, Mentioned/off-screen-Abortion, Healer!Harry, Intern!Scorpius

 **Pairings:** Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter/Scorpius Malfoy

 **A/N:** Controversy warning!! This story contains a character who had an abortion. Never is the procedure written out. But it is necessary for the plot of the story. I suggest you turn back now if this is not something you feel comfortable reading. Also, I would appreciate it if everyone kept their personal opinions about abortions to themselves. Thank you and enjoy.

 

 

**I**

On the first Saturday of summer, instead of prowling the streets of the newly rebuilt Hogsmeade with her fiancé and their friends for one last time before the graduation ceremony the next day, Ginny found herself standing outside a large converted Tudor-style mansion on Mattock Lane in Ealing in London’s west end.

 

Enclosing what was left of the old estate was a low double brick wall.  The inner wall was made up of a brownish-yellow toned brick, while the outer wall—being half the size as its counterpart—contrasted sharply in a nice rich red.  On the other side of the brick wall, hedges stood a good six, maybe seven, feet tall and in need a good trimming.  They were strategically placed to block most of the façade from street view. 

 

There appeared to be a large sign attached to the chimney, but from where she stood, Ginny could not read it, but would hazard a guess that it gave the name of the place.

 

Up and down the street, vehicles were parked along the curb.

 

A muggle on a bicycle peddled passed.

 

A couple of younger muggle women were powerwalking down the sidewalk.

 

Somewhere a dog barked.

 

Sitting in front of the structure, intentionally right by the open wrought iron pedestrian gate, were a couple of older woman holding signs Ginny couldn’t and didn’t care to read and looking as if they already had one foot in the grave.  On one side of them was a middle-aged gentleman who looked as if he belonged in the classroom lecturing students about gravity waves.  Another gentleman in a long black robe stood on the other side of the women.  Like the women, the men were also holding signs, but theirs, she could plainly read.

 

Swallowing the anger the signs induced, Ginny ducked behind a tree within the brick wall enclosed front yard of the house across the street from the converted mansion.  She disillusioned herself and then proceeded across the street and up the drive without the protestors being any the wiser.

 

 

**II**

**15 Years Later**

With an armful of files, Scorpius Malfoy stepped out of the lift and strode confidently to the door directly across the hall—behind him, the lift doors slid shut quietly.  A plaque attached to the door read, “H. J. Potter”, below which was printed, “Family Healer”.

 

Opening the door, Scorpius stepped into the office and then closed the door behind him.  A blast of cool air as well as the soothing sounds of Mette Daiye greeted him.  The waiting room was empty, which was not surprising given that the office was closed for lunch for another ten minutes, but Coralina was at the front desk.

 

“Hey,” Coralina greeted him with a smile.

 

Scorpius inclined his head in return.

 

“Hey,” she called again.  Coralina glanced about before crooking a finger at him.

 

Scorpius strode forward with a hitched eyebrow.

 

“Tread lightly,” she stage whispered.  “The Mistress is afoot.”  With a wink, Coralina returned to her paperwork.

 

It wasn’t until he heard the crinkle of paper that Scorpius realized that he was crushing the patient files.  Unclenching his hands, Scorpius took a deep breath to calm the surge of anger that had welled up within him.  Then spinning about, he marched across the waiting room and went through the door that led back to the examination rooms, Harry’s office, the break room—which was also used as a conference room—and the storage closet.

 

Harry’s office was at the end of the hall and had its own bathroom.  That was where Scorpius headed.

 

He hadn’t taken more than a single step when he started to hear raised voices.  They seemed to be coming from Harry’s office.  As Scorpius crept closer, the voices grew louder.  It was curious that a privacy charm had not been used.

 

“-not ready!”

 

“So you’ve been saying for fifteen years!”

 

“And I’ll continue to say it for another fifteen if you don’t stop pressuring me!”

 

“I’m not pressuring you!”

 

“Yes, you are!  You always bring up kids!  Always!  That is all you ever talk about!”

 

“Because I want to have a family, Ginny!  You knew that coming into this relationship!  You yourself said you wanted children!”

 

“Yes.  _Someday_!”

 

“And when is this ‘someday’ going to happen?”

 

“Whenever I am good and ready!”

 

Scorpius winced at the banshee screech.

 

“Gin,” Harry whispered into the heavy silence.

 

“Don’t,” was the sharp retort. “Just—don’t.”

 

There was the sound of heavy footsteps and then the office door was yanked open.  Scorpius scrambled back from the door, nearly dropping the pile of patient folders in his haste.  He need not have worried over being discovered eavesdropping, though, as Mrs. Harry J. Potter stormed out of her husband’s office passed him with nary a glance.  Her face was pinched.  Her shoulder length ginger hair, which was styled into soft ringlet curls, bounced energetically with each step.  Her three-inch spike heels dug craters into the carpet.

 

Just as she wrapped her manicured hand around the knob of the door leading out into the waiting room, Scorpius called out, “Hello Mrs. Potter.”  He offered an innocent smile and an awkward little wave around the patient files when she tossed a heated flare over her shoulder before flinging open the door and vanishing over the threshold.

 

The door swung shut in slow shuttered increments.

 

He winced at the distant crashing sound.

 

With a sigh, Scorpius shook his head and clucked his tongue.  “Such a child.”

 

This was not the first time he’d overheard the Potters fight over the subject of children and it certainly would not be the last.  Lately, it seems as if it was all they did.  Why they remained together, Scorpius had no clue.  It was obvious, to him at least, that the love was long gone.  It wouldn’t surprise him if Ginevra had a lover or two on the side.  After all, he’d heard from his father that she’d had quite the reputation in school and there were rumors that marriage had not changed her.  Whether that was true or not remained to be seen, but it would explain a lot.

 

Scorpius glanced into the office to see Harry hunched over his desk with his head in his hands.

 

How someone who claims to be “still madly in love with this marvelous man”—if the direct quote from Ginevra in last week’s _Daily Prophet_ could be believed—can continue to hurt him by denying him the one thing out of life he has always wanted was beyond Scorpius’ comprehension.  If Scorpius was Harry’s partner, he would do whatever it took to keep Harry happy.  This was more than he could say about Harry’s _current_ partner who seemed to get off making the man miserable.

 

In fact, Scorpius had to wonder if Ginevra truly wanted children as she claimed.  For someone who wanted them “someday”, she became awfully defensive of her “not ready” stance. 

 

He wondered if there was a way to get her to admit the truth—whatever that may be—without her realizing that was what she was doing.  This ruled out veritaserum.  He wondered if it were possible to adapt a muggle camcorder to work in a wizard home.  It was something to think about.

 

He glanced at the door through which Ginevra had vanished.

 

Salazar help her if it turned out she was leading Harry on.  In fact, there was a not so small part of him that hoped that turned out to be the case.  Though Harry would be hurt in the interim, he deserved to know the truth and Scorpius was determined to be there to help Harry pick up the pieces.

 

What better time to begin than the present?

 

Swallowing his smirk, Scorpius cleared his throat and straightened his robe with his free hand.  He knocked on the doorjamb before entering the office.

 

“Healer Potter?  Here are the last of the files.”

 

Harry looked up and smiled at the sight of Scorpius.  The gloomy expression melted away instantly.  Harry dropped his hands and sat up.  “Thanks.  And I thought I told you to call me Harry.”

 

“Of course Harry.”  Scorpius hid his pleased smile by concentrating on setting the files on the desk and arranging them into a neat pile.

 

Of course Scorpius had not forgotten that Harry had granted Scorpius permission to call Harry by his given name. How can you possibly forget something as monumental as that?  Especially when it was from your idol?

 

“What would you like me to do with these?” Scorpius inquired of the patient files.

 

“Just leave them there,” Harry said with a casual flip of his hand as he sat back.  “Those are inactive patient files.  I’m going to be putting them into storage.”

 

“Ah.”  Scorpius nodded in understanding.

 

That would explain why they were transferred to the new office last.

 

“What is to happen to the furniture at the old office?”

 

Harry shrugged.  “That’s up to the new occupants.”

 

An easy silence fell, accompanied by low murmurings from the direction of the waiting room.  A check of the time—via the watch Harry bought him for his last birthday—informed him that lunch was just about over.

 

When Harry pushed his chair back and went to stand up, Scorpius found himself saying, “I’m sorry!”

 

With his hand on his white lab coat that was hanging from a hook on the hat stand behind the desk, Harry paused momentarily.  He gave a single slow blink, then grabbing his lab coat, he swung it on as he turned back towards Scorpius.  “Whatever for?”

 

“I, uh, sort of overheard…,” Scorpius confessed sheepishly.  His voice trailed off as waved vaguely behind him in the direction of the office door.

 

Harry snorted as he rounded the desk, fixing the collar of his lab coat.

 

When asked why he preferred a muggle doctor lab coat over wizarding healer robes, Harry claimed it was out of convenience more than anything.  The healer’s robe, more often than not, got in the way. 

 

“You and entire neighborhood.”

 

Relieved that Harry was not angry with his accidently eavesdropping, Scorpius snickered.

 

With a firm hand, Harry clasped Scorpius’ shoulder.  “Don’t worry about it.”

 

“Thank you,” Scorpius said.

 

Silently, Scorpius watched Harry as the man strode out of the office.

 

The urge to know why was too much to ignore.

 

“Why do you stay with her?” Scorpius blurted out just as Harry stepped over the office door threshold.  That was more straightforward than he had intended and almost regretted such a Gryffindor move, but with Harry that was usually the most effective way to get answers.

 

Harry ground to a halt.  “Excuse me?”

 

Scorpius winced at the incredulous tone, but he did not back down.  “Forgive me, but…”  Here, he had to proceed carefully. “I—never see you smile around her.”

 

Harry seemed to sag without physically moving.  It made Scorpius curious.  What secrets was the man hiding?  Perhaps Harry was not as content in his marriage as he led everyone to believe.  If one did not count the constant fighting with his wife over children as evidence.

 

“Why stay if you’re so miserable?”

 

Glancing back at Scorpius over his shoulder, Harry offered the teen a sad smile. “Because I made a promise.”

 

Scorpius opened his mouth, but was not sure what to say to that, so he closed his mouth without speaking.

 

“Besides,” Harry continued, “despite our problems, I still love her.”

 

With that, Harry walked off, the door to the office shutting behind him.

 

“Yeah, but…sometimes love isn’t enough.”

 

 

**III**

The rest of the day crawled by painfully. By the time four o’clock finally rolled around, which was when the office closed on Mondays, it had officially become the longest day in Scorpius’ young life.  And the guilt was eating him alive.

 

So after the last patient of the day left and Coralina had rushed off to pick up her daughter from the sitter, Scorpius loitered behind as Harry locked and set the wards on the office.

 

“Harry?” he called softly with his gaze to the floor.

 

“Yeah?” Harry answered sounding distracted. 

 

“I apologize for being so forward earlier.  You’re relationship with your wife—,” the word burned like acid; Scorpius hoped Harry did not notice the slight hesitation in his voice, “is none of my business.”

 

When Harry called his name, Scorpius raised his head to see the man smiling kindly at him.  But there was something sad about that smile.  “You have nothing to apologize for.  I appreciate your concern.”  It was Harry’s turn to hesitate. “In fact, you’re…the only one who is.”

 

What?

 

“See you tomorrow.”

 

Scorpius gaped, flabbergasted, after the man until Harry had vanished into the lift.

 

Did Harry…?

 

No, that is not possible.  It can’t be. Yet…

 

Through the anger, disgust and disappointment towards Harry’s supposed best friends’ blindness concerning Harry’s troubles, there was a surge of happiness. Scorpius was almost giddy that he alone could see Harry’s suffering.  It meant he could be Harry’s rock.  He alone could give Harry what Harry needed, what he wanted.  All Scorpius had to do was prove what type of person Ginevra Weasley really was.

 

 

**IV**

The opportunity came sooner than Scorpius could ever have imagined; the very next day.

 

Wednesdays were the busiest day of the week at the clinic.  Office hours were from seven in the morning until three in the afternoon, but it wasn’t unusual for Harry to arrive hours before the clinic opened and remain after normal office hours for several more.  On top of the hours Harry put in at the clinic, he worked at Saint Mungo’s from ten that night until six the next morning.

 

Scorpius was in awe of the man; his commitment made Scorpius love him even more.

 

Because Wednesdays were the more hectic days, Harry tended to be a little more absentminded than usual, so it also wasn’t unusual for Harry to task Scorpius with fetching something or other from his house.  This Wednesday was no different.

 

At the smaller desk built into a wall of bookshelves in Harry’s office, Scorpius was transcribing Mrs. Marigold Liberfield’s file when Harry walked in.

 

“Hey, I need you to do something for me,” the man said as he crossed towards his desk.

 

“Sure.”

 

“Go to my place and get Mr. Knapp’s file.”

 

After finishing the sentence he was transcribing, Scorpius stuck the quill into the gold cap of the black lacquered holder.  “All right,” he said as he stretched out the kinks from being hunched over for so long.

 

It was no secret that Harry had horrible handwriting, so it was Scorpius’ duty to rewrite the man’s illegible notes so that they were legible—not an easy task.

 

“Thanks.  It should be on the coffee table in the drawing room.”

 

“Want me to go now?”

 

“Please,” Harry answered as he sat back down at his desk.

 

“All right.  I’ll be back in a bit.”

 

Harry uttered a distracted grunt but otherwise made no indication he heard his young intern as he poured over another patient file.  Scorpius chuckled fondly.

 

Grabbing his cloak from the hook on the wall behind the door, Scorpius swing it around his shoulders and fastened it as he made his way from the clinic; as usual the place was packed.

 

He took the lift to the ground floor where he tipped his head in greeting at the receptionist as he made his way across the atrium towards the row of fireplaces with their marble surrounds.  The young woman returned the greeting with a smile before returning her attention to an older gentleman with a head full of shockingly white hair and a hunched posture.

 

Between the fireplaces was a quartet of marble topped pedestal plant stands that were staggered in height.  The three tallest had a menagerie of house plants such as the peperomia, obstusifolia, the spiderplant and the zz plant.  All muggle and chosen specifically by a muggleborn horticulturalist for their aesthetic value as well as their non-threatening manner—unlike many magical plants.  The forth plant stand held a blue mosaic tiled glass bowl filled with the ever-familiar green powder.

 

Taking a pinch of floo, Scorpius stepped into the pristine hearth of the fireplace on the left.  “Potter residence.  Naunton,” he called before tossing the green powder at his feet.

 

As he was whisked away by the green flames, Scorpius could not help being smug at the knowledge that Harry had trusted him—a Malfoy—enough to allow him to go into his home unsupervised.  It was not a privilege allotted to just anyone, not even all of Harry’s friends.

 

The dizzying journey ended abruptly, but an invisible barrier kept him from stepping out of the fireplace.

 

“Witherwings,” Scorpius spoke the password.

 

Instantly, the barrier began to peel back from a central point in waves of iridescent color.  Once it dropped, Scorpius stepped out of the hearth into a modest but spacious drawing room.  Behind him, the ward snapped back into place.

 

Straightening his cloak and brushing stray soot from his intern robes, Scorpius listened for any sound that would alert him to the presence of another person.  As it usually was when Scorpius was running errands for Harry, the house was silent.  That did not stop him from calling out, “Hello,” just in case.

 

One never knew.

 

It was not surprising when there was no answer.

 

After Kreacher passed away, Harry hadn’t had the heart or the desire to acquire another house-elf—much to the pleasure of Hermione and the displeasure of Ginevra, which was why none was there to greet him.

 

As for the lady of the house, Ginevra didn’t cook, didn’t clean—not even after herself.  They didn’t have children that she had chosen to remain at home to raise.  She didn’t have a job as far as Scorpius knows even though she once aspired to join the Holyhead Harpies or become a quidditch correspondent.

 

Just what did she do with her day?

 

Her not being home worked out perfectly for Scorpius though.  The less he saw of her the better.

 

“All right,” Scorpius said aloud.  “File.  File.  Where-?”

 

His gaze zeroed in on the coffee table before him.  Besides a well-thumbed Quidditch Through the Ages was an etched glass parfait bowl within which was a crystal ball-sized ball of moss, but no file.

 

“Typical.”

 

Scorpius gave the room a once over.

 

Plush armchairs sat on either side of the fireplace facing a sofa with the coffee table between them.  Built-in bookcases with lower cabinets stood sentry behind the armchairs; books, knick-knacks and framed photos filled the shelves.

 

Behind the sofa was a console table that displayed a statue of a stag and a bronze lamp with a stained-glass shade.  Simple end tables topped with a Boston fern bookended the sofa.

 

In the far-right corner was a large round end table.  A blue glass vase of peace lilies sat in the center of the table.  A pair of straight back armchairs flanked the table.

 

A large bay window with a generous window seat looked out over the front yard.  Framing the thick cushion was a dieffenbachia and a snake plant along with more framed photos.  Hanging from hooks from the ceiling was a pothos plant and some English ivy.  Both had tendrils swinging freely.

 

A desk sat in the far-left corner on top of which was a third Boston fern and a silver dip pen desk set with glass ink well.

 

But no file.

 

Scorpius searched the dining room, the kitchen, what Grandfather would call the breakfast room, the sitting room, Great Aunt Andromeda’s bedroom suite and—just for the sake of being thorough—the water closet under the stairs.  He even took a quick glance into the backyard, which was quite large and had been renovated quite impressively.

 

But no file.

 

It still did not turn up after a search of the second floor either.  Not in the master suite—where he did not roll around on the bed like a lioness in heat in one of Harry’s shirts.  Nor in the guest rooms, the bathroom or in the study.

 

Either Scorpius was blind, or Harry was mistaken in his belief that he left Mr. Knapp’s file at home.

 

He was heading back downstairs when the unmistakable sound of the floo activating broke the silence of the house.  A moment later, it activated a second time.

 

Who could this be now?  Since there wasn’t many it could be, it more than likely was Ginevra.  Scorpius sneered at the though of his rival.  If it was in fact her, whom had she brought home with her?  A lover perhaps?  Was that bitch having an affair after all?  It would explain so much.  The idea of anyone betraying Harry like that made him livid.

 

Instead of calling out, Scorpius crouched down on the stairs and peered under the railing into the drawing room.

 

The sight that greeted him had his jaw dropping.

 

Just as he suspected, the new arrival was in fact Ginevra and she’d dyed her hair.  And it wasn’t a very flattering color either, especially with the way she currently had it styled into ringlets.  She resembled a young Shirley Temple if Shirley Temple had dumped a bucket of tar on her head.

 

Scorpius slapped a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing aloud.

 

What had she been thinking?  He could see going blonde, but a raven?  She looked like a vampire and not a very attractive one.

 

“What did you want to talk to me about?”

 

Hermione Granger was perched on the edge of an armchair looking all prim and proper.  Looking like the slut she was in her tight white blouse that had the top five buttons undone (that had her breasts all but out on display), her black vinyl skirt that barely covered her ass and sky-high heels, Ginevra was in the other.

 

He was disappointed that Ginevra’s guest was merely her sister-in-law.  Her being caught red-handed with her skirt over her head would be the perfect way to break her and Harry up.

 

“He brought it up again,” Ginevra said cuttingly.

 

It took a moment for Scorpius to connect the “he” she was referring to to Harry, but what was “it”?  He had walked in on them arguing about children just the day before.  Was that “it”?

 

“Brought what up?”

 

“Children,” Ginevra sneered.

 

Scorpius’ eyebrows shot into his hairline at the bitter tone.  She claimed time and again that she was putting off having children because she was just not ready.  He could buy that.  With her being only in her mid-thirties, she was still young and had plenty of time to think about starting a family with her husband. 

 

But it was beginning to look as if that might not be the case after all—not that he was surprised.

 

“Gin,” Hermione sighed heavily.

 

“What?” Ginevra barked.

 

“You knew this was going to be an issue when you married him.”

 

With a snarl, Ginevra jumped to her feet and paced towards the arched opening leading into the dining room with her arms crossed over her chest.

 

“The one thing Harry has always wanted was a family.”

 

“What am I, thestral dung?” Ginevra snapped as she turned to face her sister-in-law.  “I’m his wife!”

 

“I know that-”

 

“Does my wants and needs mean nothing?”

 

“Of course not!”  Hermione looked affronted.  “But that means you are going to have to tell Harry the truth.”

 

Ginevra spun around with a curse and stormed into the dining room.

 

“There is no getting around this.”

 

“I know that,” came Ginevra’s voice from the dining room.  She sounded annoyed.

 

Hermione stood up and straightening her skirt, crossed the drawing room and vanished into the dining room.

 

Scorpius decided to follow.  The more material he had on his rival the better.

 

Non-verbally casting a muffling charm over himself, Scorpius crept down the stairs.  Swinging about the newel post, he paused and blinked.  There on the half-table pushed against the wall below a wood framed mirror and across from the water closet was the very file he’d been looking for.

 

Blind it is, Scorpius though with a snort.

 

Grabbing the file, Scorpius strolled into the kitchen where he flattened himself against the narrow section of wall that separated the kitchen from the dining room.

 

“—this is a sensitive issue,” Hermione was saying, “but if you married Harry knowing you didn’t want children while knowing that was what he wanted more than anything, then you married him under false pretenses.  You lied to him Ginny.”

 

“Knew it,” Scorpius hissed in delight.  “Fucking knew it!  Got you now you dumb bitch.”  It felt so good to be right.

 

“But I didn’t,” Ginevra argued.

 

Scorpius cocked an eyebrow.

 

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked.

 

Excellent question.

 

Curious Scorpius peeked around the corner and spied the two women.  Ginevra was strolling around the table towards the French doors that led out onto the deck.  Her arms were hugging her middle.  Meanwhile, Hermione watched her from the far side of the table.

 

“We married so young and I really wasn’t ready for children and—I didn’t want to become my mother!”  Ginevra turned to face Hermione, the look on her face one of distress.  “Is that horrible of me?”

 

“Of course not,” Hermione soothed as she walked around the table to stand besides Ginevra.

 

“I love my mother and my brothers don’t get me wrong, but—I don’t understand how she did it!  I just…” 

 

Ginevra exhaled a long and heavy breath.

 

“The longer we waited, the more I—the more I just… _didn’t_.”

 

“Oh, Ginny,” Hermione hugged the other woman.

 

Scorpius felt sick.  Maybe it was wishful thinking on his part, but there was something off about Ginevra’s explanation. 

 

“There—there is something else,” Ginevra spoke hesitantly into Hermione’s shoulder.

 

This had Scorpius’ ears perking.  Just how deep a hole could this woman dig herself into?

 

“What is it?” Hermione asked, her voice gentle.

 

Her gaze trained on the floor, Ginevra pulled out of her sister-in-law’s arms.  “Promise me you’ll never tell Harry what I’m about to tell you.”

 

Ginevra’s voice was so soft that Scorpius had to strain to hear her.

 

Hermione frowned.  “What?”

 

“Promise,” Ginevra yelled unexpectedly.  Scorpius though she sounded half-crazed.

 

Startled, Hermione jumped.  “All right!  I promise!”

 

It was Scorpius’ turn to frown.

 

“Ginny, what is going on?”  Hermione sounded desperate.

 

The woman in question said nothing, just turned to stare out the French doors.  Hermione made a move to say something, but Ginevra chose that moment to start speaking.  “During our NEWTS, I…I discovered I was—pregnant.”

 

Thankfully, Hermione’s gasp drowned Scorpius’ own.  Almost in unison, their hands flew to their mouths.  Hermione stared in shock at the younger woman.  The silence seemed to last an eternity.  Eventually, Hermione lowered her hands from her mouth to rest them clasped against her chin.  “What happened?” she breathed.

 

Ginevra turned away from Hermione.  “I flooed to Diagon Alley one day and instead slipped into muggle London and…” 

 

Her voice faded into silence as she splayed her hands down and out from her body.

 

“You didn’t,” Hermione gasped in horror.  Even from where Scorpius stood, he could see Hermione’s face had gone white.

 

Ginevra spun about with a snarl.  Scorpius reared back as if he were physically pushed.  Her face was a twisted mask of fury and redder than her natural hair color.  “Don’t you dare stand there and judge me!  You have no right!  I did what I had to do!  I was seventeen years old!  I was too young for a fucking baby!  I didn’t want it, so I got rid of it!  And you know what?”  Ginevra took a threatening step towards Hermione.  “I don’t regret it!”

 

Hermione winced.

 

Whatever else was said was lost in the static that buzzed around Scorpius’ thoughts as he stumbled almost drunkenly down the hall and out the front door.

 

As he stood out on the front stoop staring unseeingly at the pristinely manicured lawn dotted with small white flowers, the shock of learning the hopefully soon-to-be-ex-Mrs. Harry J. Potter’s deep, dark secrets started to recede.  In its place was giddiness.  It felt as if he were eight years old again and had just woken on Christmas morning.

 

Scorpius had been hoping for some dirt on the conniving bitch, but this was not something he had expected to uncover.  Gold digger?  Sure.  Maybe had a lover or two on the side.  But this?  This was beyond even his expectations.  It was almost too good to be true.

 

The only negative was what this revelation would do to Harry.  If Scorpius could, he would save Harry from the pain this would inevitably cause, but unfortunately that was not possible.  What he could do was comfort the man in his time of need.

 

And if all goes to plan, the Potter-Malfoy heir would be born a short 40 weeks later.

 

Throwing a twisted smirk over his shoulder into the darkened interior of the Potter house, Scorpius disapparated with a loud crack—that may have been deliberate.

 

Moments later, Hermione poked her head out of the drawing room with her wand at the ready.  She took in the open front door with a frown.

 

“Who is it?” Ginny asked as she came up behind her.

 

“Not sure,” Hermione said as she crept cautiously through the foyer.  “But the front door is open.”

 

“Oh.  Probably Teddy,” Ginny said with a careless shrug.

 

Despite the fact they were hidden from the muggle neighbors behind powerful wards, Hermione hid her wand within the folds of her skirt as she stepped outside.  “You can’t know that for certain,” Hermione cautioned her sister-in-law as her perceptive gaze scanned the world beyond the front door.

 

Birds were chirping.

 

Squirrels were chasing one another to and fro.

 

Bicyclists—both young and old—peddled up and down the street.

 

There was the distant sound of children shouting.

 

Mrs. Pringle was watering her garden.

 

Mr. Butler was speaking to the home care aid that routinely stopped by to help with his ailing wife.

 

The occasional vehicle drove by.

 

There was the distant sound of traffic.

 

Someone was hammering somewhere.

 

Someone else was using an electric saw.

 

There was nothing out of the ordinary, but that meant little.  In fact, that made her more suspicious.

 

“Sure, I can,” Ginny disagreed.

 

With her senses still on high alert, a wary and tense Hermione stepped back into the house while keeping her attention on the happenings outside.

 

She did not like this.

 

Rolling her eyes at Hermione’s paranoia, Ginny stepped around her and shut the front door.  The locks and wards went up automatically.

 

“Teddy comes over all the time,” Ginny continued.  “He’s here more often than he is at his own home _and_ he tends to leave the door wide open no matter how many times we tell him otherwise.  Much like trying to get Ron to eat like a human being and not an animal.”

 

Hermione frowned all the more deeply.  “Be that as it may, I would feel better if we swept the house just to be on the safe side.”

 

“You know this place is more protected than Gringotts, Hogwarts and Grimmauld Place combined.  Nobody can get in unless invited.”

 

“I realize that, but I’m still checking.”

 

Ginny sighed heavily.  As the muggles say, Hermione was like a dog with a bone.  Once she had an idea in her head that was it.  “Fine!  Fine.  Go ahead.  I get to say, ‘I told you so’ when you find nothing.”

 

Her face set, Hermione gave a curt nod before she dashed off on her self-appointed mission.

 

Ginny followed at a more sedate pace.

 

She couldn’t help wondering, though, why she had not been alerted to the front door being open.

 

It was a scary thought—for a variety of reasons.

 

 

**V**

Scorpius was torn.

 

The entire way back to the clinic, he’d been all fired up to lay out the facts point blank to Harry about what he’d learned, knowing full well the consequences of doing so—in fact anticipating them.  But now as he stood face to face with the man he loved and would give anything to be with, his determination started to waver.

 

“Thanks,” Harry said with a bright smile that sent a pang of guilt through Scorpius’ heart as they stood before the closed door to examination room three.  “Was it on the table?”

 

“Oh, uh, no, actually.  It was in the foyer.”

 

Harry frowned.  “Really?  Huh.”  He shrugged.  “Well thanks for going to get it for me.”

 

“Yeah, no problem.”

 

With one final smile, Harry vanished into the exam room.  “Hello, Mrs. M’gica-”

 

Scorpius had opened his mouth to call out to Harry, but the door shut—cutting off Harry’s greeting to his next patient—without a word passing his lips.  He turned away with a curse, raking his fingers through his hair—a habit he’d picked up from Harry, much to his father’s dismay.

 

He had to tell Harry what he’d learned.  There was no doubt in his mind about that, but how was he supposed tell him something like this?  It wasn’t as if he were informing the man his wife was having an affair.  There would be no hesitation then.  Scorpius almost wished that was Ginevra’s crime.  But this?  Her real crime was worse than having a side dish.

 

Returning to Harry’s office, Scorpius picked up where he left off with Mrs. Liberfield’s file.

 

Maybe something would come to him.

 

 

**VI**

Nothing came to him.

 

That night at dinner, Scorpius picked at his food.  He didn’t have much of an appetite.

 

“Is there anything wrong son?”

 

With his fork mutilating the baked potato, Scorpius glanced at his father sitting at the head of the table.

 

Draco dabbed at his mouth with a burgundy cloth napkin before resettling it in his lap.  He then took a sip of wine.

 

Sighing, Scorpius granted the potato a reprieve by putting his fork down.  “Actually…there is something I would like to speak with you about if you have the time.”

 

“I always have the time for you, you know that.”  Draco leaned his forearms against the lip of the table and linked his fingers together.  Scorpius was reminded vividly of his grandfather Malfoy who was currently visiting the family vineyards in France along with Grandmother.  “What do you want to speak about?”

 

“Harry” was on the tip of Scorpius’ tongue, but he stopped himself from speaking the name at the last second.  While his father and Harry were no longer at each other’s throats as they once were when they were children, they were not the best of friends either.  The name “Harry Potter” still brought that trademark Malfoy sneer to his father’s face. 

 

In fact, his father had been against Scorpius’ summer internship at Harry’s clinic.  It had taken a lot of back and forth to get the man to agree.

 

And Scorpius was not in the mood to deal with his father’s childishness that would inevitably rear its head the moment Scorpius uttered That Name.  Instead, Scorpius decided to refer to his problems concerning the Potters in general terms.

 

“A friend.”

 

Draco cocked an eyebrow.  “Is this an actual friend or a metaphorical one?”

 

“A real friend Father,” Scorpius deadpanned.  “I am protecting him by keeping his identity anonymous.”

 

“All right.  Proceed then,” Draco said as he took up his cutlery and cut up is steak.

 

Pinching the stem of his wine glass, Scorpius twisted the glass back and forth against the lace table runner.  The yellowish liquid within swirled about.  “I recently discovered my friend’s—girlfriend,” he decided, “has been keeping a big secret and I’m—I am not sure what to do.”

 

Draco hummed as he washed his steak down with a sip of wine.  “It depends on the secret I would think.  What type of secret are we talking about?”

 

“I am not comfortable saying.”

 

“Understood.  Tell me this; could their relationship survive the revelation?”

 

That was the question, wasn’t it?  Harry wanted children.  Ginevra did not and kept that fact to herself.  It was a definite betrayal.

 

“I am not…I cannot say with absolute certainty either way, but…I think not.”

 

Scorpius was both giddy and feeling guilty over that.

 

Draco nodded.  “In that case, I do not see you have any choice but to tell your friend the truth.”

 

“I know,” Scorpius sighed.  “It’s just that I don’t know how to tell him without…”

 

“Without him getting hurt?”

 

“Yes,” Scorpius agreed gloomily.

 

Draco crossed his arms over the table and leaned forward as dinner was replaced with coffee and an assortment of mini pies and teacakes.  “That is a lovely sentiment, Scorpius, but it is not realistic.  We will hurt and be hurt many times over in our lives, whether intentionally or not.  As much as we would like to save our loved ones the burden of emotional turmoil, to bear it upon our shoulders for them, it is not possible.  Being a father, I know this from first-hand experience.”  Draco continued as he poured himself some coffee, “All you can do is sit your friend down and tell him what you know.  Alternatively, you can go to the girlfriend and tell her she needs to come clean with him otherwise you will do it for her.”  Sitting back, Draco took a sip of his coffee.  “In this situation, I am afraid there is no avoiding your friend getting hurt.”

 

“I know,” Scorpius sighed.  “I just wish…”

 

“Believe me, I know.”

 

With a smile full of melancholy, Scorpius thanked his father before excusing himself.

 

As he made his way to his room, the beginnings of a plan started to form.

 

He just hoped it worked.

 

 

**VII**

The following day being Thursday, the clinic was closed.

 

Harry usually spent his days off with his godson Teddy, who was only a year older than Scorpius himself.  Apparently, Teddy was thinking about popping The Question to his longtime girlfriend Victoire Weasley, so the men were going ring shopping.

 

Scorpius swung the desk chair about so he was facing the open French doors and held out his left hand.

 

He had a pale complexion, much like all the Malfoy men before him.  His nails had been recently manicured thanks to a mother-son outing this past Saturday.  His index finger bore the Malfoy heir ring, but his ring finger was bear.

 

“Hopefully not for long,” Scorpius said with a smirk.

 

Dropping his hand, Scorpius glanced out over the balcony at the grounds of Malfoy Manor.  The water of the pool glistened in the summer sun.  The lawn was a luscious green.  The garden, vibrant and aromatic, was being tended to by several house-elves whose sole job it was to take care of the garden.

 

At the knock, Scorpius swung his hair back around to see his father standing at his bedroom door.

 

“Father?”

 

“I will be leaving in a little bit,” Draco said as he stepped into his son’s suite.  “And why does it look as if your library exploded?”

 

Scorpius took in the nearly empty shelves; their contents were now scattered throughout the room alongside scrolls and balls of parchment.  It did look as if a monsoon had hit.  “Just working on a little project.”  He tried for non-chalant.

 

Hidden from view, Scorpius fingered his bare ring finger.

 

“What sort of project?” his father inquired as he picked up a thin leather-bound book from Scorpius’ bed.  A sculpted blond brow rose, but otherwise Draco’s expression remained neutral.

 

Scorpius frowned.

 

“Does it have anything to do with what we discussed last night?” his father continued as set the book back down.

 

“It relates,” Scorpius confessed.  That was all he was willing to say at the moment.

 

His father hummed as he gave the mess one last glance.  “Well,” Draco said as he focused his gaze on his only son.  “I will be at your grandparents’ if you need anything.”

 

“All right.  Tell everyone I send my love.  How are Grandmother and Grandfather by the way?”

 

Unfortunately, Grandfather Greengrass was suffering from Parkinson’s disease and while being treated for a broken hip, it was discovered that Grandmother Greengrass was showing the first signs of dementia, so his mother had been staying with her parents all week to care for them.  While the Greengrasses had a contingent of house-elves that could easily care for their master and mistress easily, Astoria and her sister felt it was better for their parents to have human caregivers.  Father was to join Mother for the weekend and then Aunt Daphne was going to take over for them on Sunday.

 

“Greatly improved according to your mother.”

 

As cliché as the saying was, it did in fact feel as if a weight had been lifted from Scorpius’ shoulders at that pronouncement.  He felt at least ten pounds lighter.  “So, the treatment is working then.”

 

There wasn’t much that could be done presently about Parkinson’s disease other than taking a mass of potions for the rest of your life to ease the symptoms.  But if caught early enough, dementia had an eighty percent chance of remission, but there was also a thirty-five percent chance of a relapse.  Regular check-ups were a must.

 

His father had suggested hiring an at-home medi-witch who would either remain at Greengrass manor full-time to take care of his grandparents or would stop by the manor each day for several hours.  His mother and her sister were vehemently against the idea.  Instead, his aunt was considering moving back home with her husband and their daughter.  Until something was decided either way, the Greengrass sisters would take turns taking care of their parents.

 

“It appears so, but it is still early.”

 

Scorpius nodded.  Only time would tell how his grandparents took to treatment.

 

Sometime soon he would have to make time to stop by and see his grandparents.  Magic willing, he would have some good news to pass along at that time.

 

“We should be home Sunday afternoon.”

 

“All right.”

 

His father turned to leave, but paused and threw over his shoulder, “Be careful.”

 

Then he was gone.

 

Confused, Scorpius stared after his father with a frown.  What was that about?

 

Shaking it off, Scorpius glanced about with a grimace.  Grabbing his wand out of the converted black lacquered box burner, Scorpius gave his wand a wave.  Immediately the room was awash with magic.

 

The loose sheets of parchment were lifted into the air by invisible hands and fluttered across the room to gather into a single stack above the chaise angled before the fireplace.  After shuffling like a deck of cards, the stack of parchment settled onto the corner of the desk in a neat pile.

 

The scrolls rolled themselves up.  Shiny red ribbons wrapped around some of them; a couple had black ribbons.  Hanging above the fireplace mantle was a portrait of the original Château Malfoy in Provence, France—that was supposedly destroyed during the French Revolution.  It swung open to reveal an alcove into which the scrolls, one by one, shot like bullets.  After the last scroll vanished within the alcove, the portrait swung closed with a quiet schnick.

 

One after another, the tomes rose into the air next.  They stacked themselves into several unstable towers that floated drunkenly to the built-in shelves surrounding the fireplace where they started to reshelf.

 

Despite what his father believed, it wasn’t as simple as sitting Harry down and telling him what he had overheard. 

 

…But maybe…

 

Maybe he didn’t have to tell Harry at all.

 

Call it cowardice.  Call it a little of that Slytherin cunning that wasn’t as prevalent in him as Grandfather Malfoy would have liked.  Call it whatever you wanted, but Scorpius had no intention of saying anything to Harry.  Oh, no.  One way or another, the soon-to-be-ex-Mrs. Harry J. Potter was going to tell her husband her deep, dark secret herself.  Scorpius would see to that.

 

As per his father’s advice, Scorpius sent off a message via owl to Ginevra early this morning.  It was timed perfectly to arrive right in the middle of breakfast. 

 

That was almost three hours ago. 

 

Having been in a generous mood, Scorpius had decided to give her a full twenty-four hours before enacting the second stage of his plan.

 

While he waited, Scorpius decided to check out what the book was that had his father reacting the way he had.

 

He shot his wand back into the air and the book in question wiggled out of the dwindling tower of books being reshelved and came sailing towards him.  In a move that would make Harry proud, Scorpius caught it easily in his outstretched hand.

 

“ _The Analytical Mind: The Analysis of the Anathematization of the ‘Antiquus Dierum’_ ,” Scorpius read, “Anaxagoras Anaximander.”

 

The medi-healer intern huffed out in surprise as he flopped back into the chair gracelessly.

 

The so-called “God Elixir” was created in 1759 by Copernicus LaMange to aid he and his wife in conceiving a child after Lady LaMange was left barren following a miscarriage that caused her to nearly hemorrhage to death.

 

It took several trials, but LaMange eventually created a successful fertility potion that led to the LaManges having thirteen children—all of whom survived into adulthood.

 

It wasn’t until LaMange’s death in 1862 at the ripe old age of 132 that the formula was published, but less than a decade later, it was banned for reasons that had never really been clear.

 

Scorpius could only guess what had been going through his father’s mind at the sight of this book sitting out.

 

Honestly, he only had the book because he’d had a paper on the history of magical fertility aides in the last 300 years last semester.

 

He hadn’t pulled it out for any specific reason.  In fact, he’d forgotten he’d had it.

 

Thumbing through the tome, a musty scent tickling his nose, Scorpius came across a strip of parchment in-between the pages, which he couldn’t remember seeing before.  Curious, Scorpius tuned the parchment over.  Both sides were blank.  Setting the strip aside, Scorpius studied the pages it had been bookmarking.

 

It turned out to be the recipe for the _Antiquus Dierum_ potion as it was published in 1863, but someone appeared to have penciled in some corrections; most were relatively minor.

 

At least half of the ingredients had their amounts altered in some way.  For example, the original recipe called for one ounce of shaved horn from an oniont; the correction upped it to two.  The powdered lapis lazuli was now to be crushed.  The shed skin of a rainbow serpent was to be dried and crushed into powder, the hibiscus flower chiffonaded.

 

What seemed to have stumped the unknown editor and what would pose a problem for any who set out to make the _Antiquus Dierum_ today was the Tears of St. Catherine.  A bit of a misnomer, the Tears of St. Catherine weren’t actually tears; they were in fact iridescent scales located along the spine of the now extinct Yukina dragon.  To circumvent the ban on the sale and possession of the scales—called “Hiruiseki” or “Crystal Tears”—that had been put into place to curb the dwindling numbers of these gorgeous creatures due to poaching, the scales had been sold under the name “Tears of St. Catherine”.

 

Unfortunately, less than a decade after the ban had been enacted, the last of the Yukina dragons had fallen ill due to a mysterious disease that swept though the Dragon Reserve they had been staying at.  They ended up dying a few months later.  With their deaths, the Tears of St. Catherine had become increasingly difficult to find.  Today, they were impossible to find.

 

Scorpius always though the use of the Tears for fertility issues was nothing more than an Old Wives’ Tale.

 

Guess not.

 

What next caught his attention was the mugwort.  It appears the original recipe asked for the mugwort to be sliced into slivers, which made no sense as the thujone in mugwort was toxic if ingested.  Making tea from the mugwort and then putting that into the potion was more sensible.

 

Another change that caught his eye was the addition of stinging nettles.  It was strange that the nettles had been left out of the original recipe.  Any potion to aide fertility that used hibiscus flowers needed to use the flowers in combination with the stinging nettles, because on its own, the hibiscus flower was an abortifacient.  Used in tandem with the nettles, they became a powerful fertility aide.

 

Someone of LaMange’s caliber would have known that.

 

And that told Scorpius that whomever published the potion hadn’t had permission from the LaMange estate, nor had he even had a basic level understanding of potions.

 

Scorpius sneered in disgust at the recipe.  “Anything for a quick galleon, huh?”

 

It was clear why the potion had been banned.

 

But with these changes, the _Antiquus Dierum_ fit perfectly into his plans.

 

The Malfoy Sneer—as Harry referred to it as—morphed into a smirk.

 

Hopefully by the end of the week—at the latest—Ginevra will be out of the picture and he firmly in her place.

 

Replacing the bookmark, Scorpius set the book aside before spinning his chair around so he was once again facing the open French doors.  He raised his left hand and imagined Harry’s ring sitting snuggly on his bare ring finger.

 

 

**VIII**

**A Year Later**

It took longer than Scorpius had anticipated to finalize his plans.

 

The main problem being, as expected, the Tears of St. Catherine.  Various substitutions for the banned and impossible to find ingredient had various reactions—none of which was the desired one.  One attempt, the last one in fact, very nearly leveled the manor; his father had very nearly leveled him.  The event had one desirable effect though; somehow his father had procured a Hiruiseki scale for him.  The man denied he had anything to do with the white iridescent scute that appeared at Scorpius’ work station a few days later, but Scorpius knew his father was his mysterious benefactor; who else would know what he was working on?  However his father found the scale, Scorpius was eternally grateful.  He could have gone to Knockturn Alley to purchase one through dubious channels himself but that was risky for numerous reasons—among those being not walking back out of the Alley.

 

On top of the problem with the Tears was his summer internship at the clinic and then September rolled around and with it, his final year of schooling—well, final semester to be precise.  The spring semester was the start of an apprenticeship in leu of classes, ending with an evaluation that decided whether the intern received his mastery.  This could take years depending on the career.

 

This year long delay gave Ginevra ample opportunity to come clean to her husband—of which Scorpius took every opportunity to remind (and maybe taunt) her.

 

This delay both terrified Scorpius as well as delighted him.  As sure as he was that Harry and Ginevra’s marriage could not survive such a malicious lie, there was always the possibility that Harry—being the man he was—would forgive his wife her sins.  That was something Scorpius loved about the man while frustrating him at the same time.

 

Despite having all the time in the world to come clean, it appeared as if Ginevra had remained tightlipped.  She hadn’t even said anything to Harry about receiving threatening letters on an almost daily basis.  Of course, that would mean coming clean and she seems to be doing everything in her power to avoid that.  Unfortunate for her.  Fortuitous for him.

 

He should feel bad for what he was about to do, but he couldn’t find it in him to feel anything but gleeful.

 

Really, she had nobody to blame but herself.  She was the one who entered into a marriage under false pretenses.  A relationship built on lies was bound to crumble.

 

As detestable as Scorpius found Ginevra’s continuous silence, he could also understand her sense of self-preservation.  What he couldn’t comprehend was why Harry’s so-called best friend—one Hermione Granger—had kept her word and not gone to Harry with what she knew.  He would have.  That was more than likely the Slytherin in him, just like the Gryffindor in Hermione was more than likely giving Ginevra the benefit of the doubt.  Scorpius wasn’t willing to do the same.  What he was willing to do was kick that no-good hussy to the curb and take her place at Harry’s side.

 

With his wand at his temple, Scorpius thought back to the day in the Potter household when he overheard The Secret.  When he retracted his wand, there were silvery strands reminiscent of mercury stretched between the tip and his head.  The strands broke free, hanging like tassels from his wand.  Dragging the glass bottle towards him, Scorpius carefully guided the memory strands into it before stoppering it with a cork plug.

 

Picking up the bottle, Scorpius spun his desk chair around and held the bottle up into the light from the setting sun that was beaming through the open French doors.  The contents shimmered with a rainbow luminescence.

 

With a smirk, Scorpius fisted the bottle and then picked up the note from his desk before making his way through the manor to the owlery.

 

He had a carriage to rock.

 

 

**IX**

When an owl swept down out of the night sky to perch on the back of the empty chair across from her, Ginny didn’t give it more than a cursory glance as she sipped the last of her wine and beckoned to the waiter for the check.

 

It had been yet another delightful evening that had once again ended all too soon, but that was becoming a common occurrence now that her friends had “adult responsibilities”—their words not hers—that included spouses, children, jobs, etc.

 

How boring.

 

Maybe she should consider finding new friends.

 

“Here you go,” the waiter said with a bright smile as he set the leather bill fold down in front of her.  “I’ll take it up whenever you’re ready.”

 

“Thank you,” Ginny returned with a pleasant smile.

 

Ginny ogled the boy’s ass in the tight black slacks as he sauntered away.  The kid didn’t have much stock in the looks department, but he had one fine ass that just begged to be squeezed.

 

She barely gave the 145.98£ bill a perfunctory glance, just pulled out four crisp 50£ muggle notes and slid them into the bill fold before setting it on the edge of the table for the waiter.

 

It was only then that she acknowledged the owl. 

 

She recognized the foul little creature immediately.  It was the same Stygian owl that had been visiting her every day for a year now.  Never did it come when her husband or various companions were around and any muggles in the vicinity never gave it a second glance.  The owner seemed to have thought of everything.

 

“Just hand it over and get lost,” she snapped.

 

She’d just about had it with this whole affair.

 

At first, the threatening letters had shaken and terrified her, had her fearing the worst, but as time passed and nothing untoward happened other than the letters, she’d begun to relax.  It appeared as if the little bitch was all bark and no bite.

 

With a screech that sounded almost crow-like, the owl rose into the air and dropped the letter right into what was left of her triple layer chocolate tart before disappearing into the night.

 

“Nasty creature,” she sneered after it.

 

She picked the letter out of her dessert and shook off any lingering bits.  She had half a mind to simply tear the letter up and be done with it, but something stayed her hand.

 

Like usual, the letter was sealed with red wax and stamped with what appeared to be an inverted algiz rune on the back.  On the front, her full maiden name was written in elaborate calligraphy; Ginevra Molly Weasley.  The slight infuriated her.

 

Ginny popped the seal, nearly tearing the parchment in half in the process, and scanned the letter.  A chill shot down her spine.  A variety of emotions, chief among them being fear, flushed the anger and annoyance right out of her system.

 

“Oh, Godric, no,” she gasped.

 

Pale faced, Ginny leapt to her feet unsteadily.  The world swayed about her as the bistro chair screeched against the flagstone terrace.  The parchment fluttered to the ground, forgotten, as she grabbed her purse and jumped the wrought iron railing enclosing the sidewalk terrace.  She ignored the elderly couple she nearly landed on and tore down the bustling sidewalk. 

 

Why were there so many people out and about?  It was after ten o’clock at night!

 

Angry pedestrians cried out behind her as she shoved them none too gently aside in her blind haste to get to the nearest apparation point.

 

Back at the restaurant, the waiter stooped to pick up the abnormally thick piece of paper.  There was only two words written on it.

 

_Time’s up._

 

 

**X**

Landing on the front stoop of her suburban home with a sound in the dead quiet of the night that was louder than a contingent of backfiring cars, a heavily panting Ginny fumbled with her house keys as she cursed Harry for their very existence only to discover when she went to shove the key into the lock that the door was not only unlocked, but not even latched.

 

_Time’s up._

 

“Oh, Godric,” she whispered in fear.

 

Slamming through the door open, Ginny raced through the foyer and was halfway up the staircase before the sounds registered.

 

“Nn!  Oh!”

 

Ginny stumbled to a halt three steps from the top landing at the passionate cries that resounded through the house.  The voice was male.  But it was not Harry’s.

 

_If you won’t give him what he wants, I will._

 

The first letter she’d received ended with that line.  Naturally, she had assumed her rival to be a woman.  Clearly, she was wrong.

 

“Yes!  Yes!  Yes,” cried the chants over the creaking of the bed. 

 

“It’s a dream.  I’m dreaming.  It’s a dream,” were Ginny’s own mantras.

_He is completely devoted to you!_

 

On shaky legs, Ginny used the handrail to pull herself up the remaining stairs.

 

The door at the top of the stairs was ajar.  The room beyond was a black hole, but she did not need to see to know what was going on.

 

_He would sacrifice everything for you!_

 

Through her tear blurred vision, Ginny reached out with trembling hands towards the door, only to halt the movement millimeters from the door as the once steady rhythm sped up and became erratic.  The headboard slammed incessantly into the wall.

 

“Oh, God!  Oh, God!  Oh, God!”

 

Her heart gave a painful lurch as she heard Harry’s voice choked out, “Scorpius!”

_He would willingly give you the world!_

 

A single tear traversed her face.

 

_Would you not do the same?_

 

Ginny slid to the floor as her knees buckled.

 

 

**The End**

**Author's Note:**

> That’s it folks. Suffice it to say that the Potter marriage is over and Scorpius is now pregnant.


End file.
